


Chef

by enid_salt



Series: Meet Cute AUs [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enid_salt/pseuds/enid_salt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Murdock is a burgeoning writer for the New York Bulletin with a particular skill set - his picky palate. Enter a new restaurant opening run by another local boy done good named Foggy Nelson and Matt's career as a food critic might just work out.</p><p>If only he could get the dating thing down as well. </p><p>(Meet cute AU: Original prompt was finicky food critic v. fast food chef but this happened instead. Oh dear.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chef

The news of Hell's Kitchen was a perfectly crafted shell game for the most part - a select group of wealthy individuals paid various large sums for ads disguised as articles from reputable reporters. The New York Bulletin however, suffered from no such ailments. It was in major financial straits from literally doing their job correctly. Which is why Ben Urich, lead reporter and his blind protege Matt Murdock, were being grilled by their editor.

"I need something to pay the bills, guys." 

Ben sighed, "I'm working on it. I got my ear to the ground and I'm hunting down every lead. It's just real quiet lately."

The senior staff member groaned and turned toward Matt, “Matthew, anything?"

Matt shrugged, "You've got me on style and living. I can't exactly review 2d art or movies, even most new book releases aren't given immediate publishing in Braille."

Their editor straightened, idea forming, he got out "Hey -"

Matt interrupted, "I'm not doing a fluff piece on ADA noncompliance as my first article."

He countered, "Matthew, I've read your stuff. You've got such a great grasp of what this city is like - you're a native boy come back to his roots, gimme something with that."

Matt grimaced and did his best to turn it into a smile. 

"Got it."

Later at lunch with his best friend Claire Temple who worked the similar but not necessarily easier position of field reporter for the tv station, he admitted, "I don't have anything. Literally nothing."

He then picked apart his sub sandwich, rearranging his lettuce and tomatoes into a more evenly distributed set up, tossing the discarded pickles onto Claire's napkin.

"Why don't you eat these?" she asked.

Matt wrinkled his nose, "You wouldn't either if you knew the brine they pickled them in."

"Then why don't you ask them to hold the pickles," she asked between eating them.

Matt grinned and she threw a napkin at him.

"Okay, so, that actually gives me an idea of what you could do. Promise not to immediately shoot it down."

Matt held up his hands in a sign of surrender. 

Claire sat up and leaned in, "Food critic."

"What?"

She held up a finger, "Mm, mmm. No protests. Hear me out. You're ridiculously picky, you're also scary good at naming the tiniest subtleties, and there's a fab new restaurant getting buzz."

Matt frowned, "I haven't heard anything. Where?"

Claire grinned, all her teeth showing, "Here. Hell's Kitchen." 

Matt sat back, intrigued, "Wow. They got a family backing it?"

Claire shook her head, "Nope. Newbie just wrapped up the human interest story - local kid went to culinary school and came back to give back. It's a classic diner but you can also get cold cuts? I don't know." 

Matt thought it over as they continued eating.

After lunch, as she walked him back to the offices, he stopped and asked, "Okay, what's the name of the place?"

El Grande Abogado was a tiny restaurant on a corner with an even smaller storefront on the side to sell a butcher's meat.

It smelled like it was going to kill Matt. He stepped inside anyway. 

The hostess greeted him without pause. 

"Hi and welcome to El Grande Abogado. A table for one?"

Matthew nodded, "Yes, thank you."

She grabs a menu from under the pedestal and guides Matt by the elbow, "we'll put you at a small table here on the right."

As Matt sits down, she puts the menu down in front of them.

"I haven't read the Braille translation of our menu, obviously. But if you have any questions, ask your waiter when they tell you about the specials."

He nodded and reached out for the menu as she stepped away. 

Between the basic menu and a very patient waiter, Matt picked out a simple meal of a bacon cheeseburger with steak fries and a garden salad to start, leaving the option open for a slice of the fresh baked peach cobbler if he had room at the end.

The meal was brought out sooner than Matt expected and he was a bit slow to plow right through it.

It was good food. Even with Matt's particular senses, it was an enjoyable meal. The ingredients were mostly organic, if only fresh and local, but most of all they were masterfully used in the dishes. Matt was not one to malign about distant memories that continued to fade in his mind but something about the food reminded him of a time when dishes were literally made for him. He found himself thinking of a scene described to him from a recent children's movie - the harsh food critic is soothed by food so good it reminds him of his mother's.

This makes Matt laugh out loud, a bit jarring to the other patrons. He knows because he heard one unsubtly cough and flag his waiter toward him.

"Is there something wrong with the food, sir?"

Matt shakes his head, "It's wonderful really. I'm just having a Ratatouille moment." 

The waiter chuckled himself, "I'll let the cook know of your praise."

"And I will have that dessert, please."

Matt continued clearing his plate until the dessert was brought to him. He was a bit puzzled when it sounded like the person who delivered the dish sat across from him at the table.

"Sorry, I should introduce myself. I'm Foggy Nelson."

Matt didn't immediately flag down his waiter but he was close to it, "I'm Matt Murdock. Should I know you?"

Foggy giggled like he was giddy just to be asked the question.

"I guess not. I'm the executive chef and technically the biggest boss. Well, the biggest boss around. I run the place but I co-own with my college classmate Marci Stahl. She is definitely my boss. But, Matt, when I get a compliment like 'Ratatouille moment', I kind of want to get to know the person who says such things."

Matt nodded, "I did say such a thing. To be honest, I'm an aspiring reporter for the Bulletin. Which of course basically means I don't have a word to my name yet. My editor wants something new and fresh so . . . I'm going to a review of the restaurant for the living section."

Foggy laughed out loud, startling the straggling patrons of nearby tables.

"Wow. That's great! Thank you, man. Between you and the tv story on the shop, we'll be rolling in the customers for months."

Matt bowed his head to motion toward the plate, "I think you'd be fine either way. The food speaks for itself."

Foggy falters for a moment, too stunned to do much else but gape.

"I . . . You should eat your dessert before it cools. Better that way. I won't bother you any longer."

He gets up and starts to leave before he doubles back.

"Next time, bring a date, make a night of it. I'll comp you guys a dessert for two."

Matt slightly turned to him, muttering low enough so others wouldn't hear, "I really don't date that often."

Foggy bubbles with small laughs, "I don't believe it, a handsome duck like you? Unless you're more the love 'em and leave 'em type."

Matt didn't have words to explain himself so he turned back to the cobbler, he isn’t eager to show his inflamed cheeks and nervous frown instead bowing his head toward the plate. The awkward turn to the air must be palpable because Foggy begins backtracking.

"Jesus, I'm a dork. I'm - look, dude. I'm sorry for being a creep - this meal's on the house. I'll go bury a meat cleaver in my brain right now."

Matt tries to turn and say something but he can hear Foggy trodding quickly back into the kitchen. 

He finishes the cobbler slowly - it's even great cold - but Foggy doesn't come back out. He decides to go ahead and leave; he has to get his words down while they're fresh in his head and the article should say enough anyway.

He is fair with his criticisms but unabashed with his praise. Everyone loves it. He's lined up with several other places for reviews to fill up his month. Foggy, well no one from El Gran Abogado, calls for Matt.

He resolves to let it go. He lasts a full week since the words go to print before he walks in the restaurant on his way home.

"Hello Mr. Murdock and welcome back."

It's not unnecessarily cold or detached, even a bit fond.

"I'm known by name now?"

Karen the hostess laughs, "Of course! I convinced Foggy that putting up the framed article up wouldn't look too much like we're bragging. But yeah. We're bragging." 

So at least the words touched someone. Close but no cigar.

Matt flashes a quick smile, "Got any room for the humble man who stumbled upon this hidden gem?"

She leads him to a table near where he sat the first time, leaving him with the same Braille menu.

He orders the same thing - down to the peach cobbler. If his presence is made known to Foggy, he doesn't do a thing about it. The food is prepared in a similar fashion but something is different - it feels like any other dish, nothing special.

Matt is still holding out hope to speak with the chef and dismisses it as his anxiety warping his expectations.

He doesn't wait long before making a third appearance - although he usually avoids Saturday night crowds and probably won't get a table, he tries anyway. Karen spots him in the line and walks him toward the front.

"Mr. Murdock, you've always got a table here. Just come straight to me."

He thanks her profusely, knowing at this point any and all hospitality is her doing alone.

Sat alone at his table, he chooses not to get another bacon cheeseburger. Scanning the menu with his fingertips he chooses a steak and potatoes combo, which comes with a fresh veggie plate appetizer. He doesn't choose a dessert at ordering, deciding if he's asked, he'll let the waiter surprise him. 

The meal is again, best described as an artfully arranged delight. He's eating his last bites of steak when he can hear someone important working their way through the tables, checking on customers.

He doesn't jump, he doesn't immediately dab at his face with his napkin, he doesn't. Matt tells himself these things. 

A firm and authoritative but very captivating voice speaks to him, "Is everything to your liking?"

Matt knows this must be the co-owner Marci.

"Yes. Perfection every time as always."

There must be a hint of insincerity in his voice because he swears he hears her hold back a snort. He tries to smile a bit wider to show he still likes eating there.

"Wait, are you serious?" 

Matt feels bad and tries to cover his previous statement, "It's good, it really is. Almost as great as the first time I dined here."

Marci does snort this time. It seems like she takes in Matt's entire demeanor before leaving.

"Thank you for your feedback. I'll be right back."

Matt feels like he's gotten somebody in hot water and isn't fully assuaged by his waiter. He uneasily awaits his dessert. 

A piece of New York style cheesecake with a salted caramel sauce arrives at his place setting. It is hands down the best thing he has ever eaten. He leaves a huge tip and stops by Karen's station on the way out.

"I'll try and call before I show up but I'll also be stopping by often."

Karen does not keep the smile out of her voice when she says "Very good, Mr. Murdock."

Claire puts up with about three lunches worth of Matt raving about the place before she puts a hand over his mouth.

"I'm the one who told you about it. I know it's great. I'll even forgive your word vomit if you promise to pay."

She moves her hand away.

"Pay for what?"

Claire smiles around her spoon, "You basically have a table in reserve, you're telling me you're just bragging about the food with no intentions of treating me to a night out? For shame, Murdock."

The next night they both have free is Thursday so Matt calls Karen from the cab and they walk straight in. Claire murmurs to Matt that Karen did a double take when Matt walked in with her in tow.

They're sat at a very nice corner table. Claire describes that it feels more intimate and detached from main dining area. When they are served an appetizer of finger foods to share, she speaks up.

"They think this is a date."

Matt frowns, "No they don't. I told you. I pretty much scared the chef away being socially awkward. How could they think I'd score a date like you?"

Claire chuckles, "Thank you for that ego boost, Matthew. But I doubt any of them know Matt Murdock human disaster enough to know I'm out of your league."

Matt laughs with his whole body, as is natural for him being comfortable around his friends. This table puts his back to the swing doors of the kitchen so when a large crash happens just inside those doors, he only hears it.

"Claire," he prompts her to spy a bit for him.

She rolls her eyes, noting that she did so, before narrating the scene.

"A guy, long light colored hair, dropped a shit ton of dishes. He is getting them cleaned up, he's . . . Also ordering people around. A very pretty and very angry woman is laying into him, looks like. Oh Shit. They both glanced over here. I'm out."

They go back to their own conversation while their entrees are brought out. Matt doesn't give the scene another thought when Marci walks toward their table.

"Mr. Murdock."

Matt smiles, "The food is great."

Marci loses almost all professionalism, "Yeah I know that."

Claire tries not to laugh as Marci recovers, "F- . . . The chef was wondering if you were going to take advantage of his offer for free dessert for you and your date tonight."

Claire puts all her effort into not immediately shouting 'I told you' so leaving Matt to explain.

"No, not a date. Um, i'm pretty sure she has standards? Wow - that's not - you can tell the chef I'm single?"

He knows by the end of his tirade that both women are staring at him. He opts to go ahead and go right back to enjoying the food, stuffing a bite into his mouth as a substitute for his foot.

"Wow," Marci says.

Claire agrees, "Yeah."

Marci is much nicer when she leaves this time, "I will definitely let the chef know."

Claire makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat when they get dessert - the cheesecake at Matt's request - but refuses to explain. 

By the time they're done, the shift is winding down but Matt finds himself grasping at reasons to stay and chat.

"He's not coming out."

Matt doesn't say anything.

Claire sighs, "I'm assuming Shaggy from earlier is that chef you wanted to know you were single? He is valiantly trying not to peek through the kitchen windows and is totally put off by my presence. I suggest maybe coming back some other time and asking for the special of the day maybe?"

Matt scraped at his clean plate with his fork, "Yeah, well, what do you know?' 

Claire sighed, "Me? Not much. But obviously, you know nothing, Jon Snow."

They leave soon after, Matt a bit desolate looking being led by Claire.

Karen makes sure to bid them farewell, "See you soon, Mr. Murdock?"

Matt does nod.

He doesn't go back to the restaurant. The following Monday he starts his morning reading a letter based on that first article. 'I know you reviewed the restaurant but have you had any experience with their attached butcher shop?' An idea forms and despite an eager need to spring into action Matt restrains himself to working on other articles until he can properly execute it.

Noontime, Matt leaves his homemade lunch in the office fridge and heads out to the shop for himself. 

He doesn't even known if Foggy will be the one at the counter, he realizes as he rings the bell for service.

"Hello and welcome to the Nelson Family butcher shop. Can I help you?"

Matt grins the second he hears Foggy speaks.

"Yes sir," he gets closer to service counter, "a studious reader pointed out that while the restaurant has been well profiled, this butcher shop has been neglected by the news. As a reporter I'm bound by duty to rectify such an oversight. What cuts do you recommend?"

Foggy scoffs, "Seriously?"

Matt nods.

He pulls a few things, "Here. We have a nice prosciutto for some appetizers, a great slice of veal that could go with pretty much any sauce, and of course, can't go wrong with applewood smoked bacon. A great meal in one package."

Matt chimed in, "But enough for two? Two people, that is."

Foggy gulped, "Yup."

He began to weigh and price the meat.

"And what menu would recommend? A premium cut deserves to be treated right by the cook."

Foggy was still working, half paying attention, "Of course. I'd say a prosciutto hors d'oeuvre to taste, a subtle mint sauce with wild rice on the side for the veal, and candying a few slices of bacon to top an ice cream scoop as a finish."

Matt nodded, "Great. When are you free?"

Foggy nearly dropped the wrapped cuts in his hands.

"What?!"

Matt didn't react too much, "I'm no slouch in the kitchen but I can tell this requires a more talented, experienced touch to really nail the execution. Are you available?"

"Um," Foggy set the meat down in front of Matt, sucking in air when their hands brushed as Matt pulled it toward him, "Wait here. I'll check?"

He walked back through the door that attached the two establishments, possibly connecting it right to the kitchen.

Matt had to studiously ignore the muted cheers he heard from the other room before Foggy came rushing back out.

"I'm free tonight."

Matt pulled out a card and left it on the counter. It listed him as a freelance writer and “wordsmith” but still listed his cell and address so it was worth the firsthand embarrassment.

"Great. How about 7?"

Foggy picked it up, "Perfect. See you tonight."

There was a pause as Foggy held his breath. Before he could backtrack and opt out, Matt laughed.

"It happens a lot. See you later, Foggy."

"Bye, Matt."

By 6:58, Matt has driven Claire out of his apartment. While she was, at first, happy to bring over necessary ingredients and help Matt with the lighting, his nerves begot snappy comments and she kissed his cheek one last time as she was wishing him luck before getting the hell out of dodge.

“You know, that night we went?” she mentions as she’s walking out.

“Yeah?”

She stage-whispers, “He had made a heart on the cheesecake, using the caramel sauce.”

Matt freezes in place and she cackles through the hall to the elevator. It’s hard to say if it’s what he needed to hear in the moment or more what he didn’t even know he wanted to hear. Better left for analysis in the post-mortem, he decides.

He is struggling not to rearrange the table once more when Foggy knocks.

"Hey," he greets as he opens the door.

Foggy is bright and loud with his voice, "Hi! Um, I brought some things I could use for the dinner. If that's okay."

Matt grins, "It's fine."

There's a long pause before Foggy speaks again.

"So, can I come in?"

Matt moves out of the doorway, "Of course. Sorry. Wasn't thinking."

He leads Foggy to the kitchen.

Foggy passes around him and starts setting up, “Nice layout, does it get much action?"

Matt tries to muddle his way through a stretched truth, "Not as much as it should?"

Foggy opens the fridge and snorts.

"Everything is spotless and the food is all fresh. You totally never use this stuff do you?"

Matt flusters and stutters through a non-excuse. Foggy backtracks.

"I'm not - sorry, it's the chef in me I swear. Just, have a seat and I'll do my magic?'

Matt sits at the breakfast bar and lets Foggy do his thing. Foggy has this adorable habit of talking himself through his prep so between that and what Matt can hear boiling, searing and clanging, he's got a pretty clear idea of what he's doing.

"Shit," Foggy swears and the knife drops with a thump to the countertop.

Matt frowns slightly but points to a drawer, "Bandages are in the drawer next to the cutlery."

Foggy laughs, "Wow, you know exactly where those are, don't you?'

Matt shrugs, "I said I was no slouch. Never said I wasn't a klutz."

Foggy wrapped his finger up and continued.

Matt sat up from where he was sitting, "Do you need me to help any?"

Foggy snorted, "Not after that admission.

"But, on the other hand, you could always start moving stuff to the table. There's a salad bowl on the right side of the sink, a plate of finger foods on the other side, watch the stuff I'm chopping."

Matt whirls around and does a wonderful, duty-bound job of placing the food stuffs on the table. He brushes by Foggy a couple of times - once on accident but after feeling Foggy hold back a shudder, he kept doing it - and steals pieces of food in between the trips.

"Don't fill up on the pilfered food, man. Ruins the presentation."

Matt just tosses up a piece of chopped vegetable he snagged and catches it in his mouth.

"Heathen!" Foggy cries through his laughter.

They subdue a bit as they sit down to actually eat. Matt's table is not made for guests so they're seated fairly close to one another. 

Foggy tries not to lean too much into Matt's space but Matt hooks his leg around Foggy's ankle.

Foggy opts for a bit of conversation, "So how does one become a food critic?"

Matt shrugs, "I honestly fell into it. My friend, Claire - the one I brought to the restaurant the other night, she suggested I'd be a good critic. She called me picky."

Foggy chuckled, "Well shucks, we should add that as a footnote on the framed article: Matt Murdock is a self proclaimed picky eater."

Matt took a sip of wine that Foggy brought, perfectly paired with the meal. 

"More importantly, how does one name a restaurant El Grande Abogado? Avocado is the savory fruit, abogado is a lawyer."

Foggy was taken aback, "You speak Spanish too?"

Matt nodded.

Foggy let out a wistful sigh, "Yeah well I didn't. I especially didn't when I was in college studying law and hating life. It's how I met Marci. I kept talking about how my mother wanted to be a butcher and how I loved food and the drunk plans for El Grande Abogado was born."

Matt was delighted, "A lawyer? Wow, I almost can't imagine it. But I think you'd have made a great defender of the powerless."

Foggy took a long sip of his wine, "I know, right? Anyways, I dropped out, studied food and business practices and basically convinced Marci to invest with me. Rest is history."

Matt nodded, "It's a really great restaurant, Foggy."

Foggy shuffled a bit, probably shaking off a spreading blush.

"So what were you writing about before you stepped through our illustrious doors?"

Matt scrunched up his nose, "Not much. I was actually studying law as well for a long time but I switched to journalism and then, post grad, the Bulletin took me on as an intern and I basically got taught all the ropes by Ben Urich. He's been great but I've been placed in a different section for now."

Foggy nodded, then told Matt so, "I could totally picture you decimating the opposing side in court. You'd have killed it as an attorney."

Matt lets the blush spread and fights the smile by biting his lip.

"Too bad neither of us stuck with it, we could have had a partnership by now."

Foggy holds up his glass for a toast, "To Murdock and Nelson,"

Matt holds up his glass as well.

"The best damn law partnership that never was."

They clink glasses and before they sip Matt adds, "Nelson and Murdock would have been better."

Foggy chuckled, "Well I'm sure glad I didn't get it on a plaque or anything. I'd have ruined our imaginary law firm out of the gates."

Matt giggles, some of the alcohol going to his head, "We'd have to change the letterhead and our cards as well. Our entire practice would be in the red the first month."

Foggy shrugged, "I'm good with cooking on a budget, we'd make it."

Matt grins so wide, the apples of his cheeks feel sore.

The conversation lulls as they eat, only occasionally throwing in another suggestion for the fiction law offices they have created together.

By the end, Matt is forever spoiled for food. Nothing he ever makes or gets made could surpass what he's ingested so far.

"Dessert is what is going to put this over the top, though" Foggy promises.

Matt rubs at the food baby he's developed just above his waistline, "I doubt we can get any better but feel free to prove me wrong, Mr. Nelson."

Foggy places a small bowl before Matt and quickly sits down with his own bowl.

Matt scoops up a spoonful.

"What flavor of ice cream?"

Foggy delights in saying, "Guess."

Matt tastes the bite. There is a refreshing coolness to it, a mint splash bursting through but also subtly played off the richness of a dark chocolate sauce and caramel swirls. Decadent is the best word to describe it.

"I don't know the flavor - what brand is it?"

Foggy clicks his tongue against his teeth before admitting, "Trick question, I made the batch special for tonight."

Matt pauses before another spoonful, "You made this?"

"Yup. I don't really like most ice creams so I'll just make a small pan’s worth when the craving strikes."

Matt dives back into the bowl, piling it in but trying to savor each flavor as he does so.

"It's so worth it," he says around a mouthful.

Foggy laughs. He leans in.

"You've got a smear of it on you."

When his thumb brushes against Matt's lip, they both hold their breath. Foggy leans in a bit more but Matt closes the gap between them, Foggy's hand still on his face. Their lips move against each other, at first, very light and soft until the heat rises and the kisses are fervent and deep without reserve.

They pull apart and Matt is left panting.

Foggy isn't much better with his voice gravelly and wrecked, "I don't usually do this but bed?"

They tumble through Matt’s apartment, neither of them sorry about knocking over smaller pieces of furniture on their mission to get to the bedroom. 

If Matt were less of a gentleman, he’d give Foggy an even better review than what was printed in the papers, amounting to something not unlike, “10/10, would recommend”.

In the afterglow of the moment, they are wrapped in each other and tangled in sheets. It could be overwhelming or uncomfortable, but Matt is left with a well rooted satisfaction that cannot be disrupted.

“So, that was cool.”

Foggy groans a bit, his deep breath tickling the top of Matt’s head.

“Yup, very cool.” Matt agrees. 

His slight laughter breezes against Foggy’s chest in a very similar way.

“Better than the ice cream?”

Matt pulls back a bit, “Let’s not get carried away.”

Foggy hits him with the closest pillow and Matt chuckles, too pleased to retaliate.

In the morning, the eggs and bacon he makes under Foggy’s supervision are less burnt and more edible than Matt’s entire history of food making. 

It’s an auspicious start.


End file.
